Zen Obliviousness!
by Themis56
Summary: A smattering of short Millycentric stories I dug up one day on my computer and threaded together just for the heck of it. Come and get your dose of Milly Zen. Nothing too serious. Contains 75 percent WM goodness!


**Zen Obliviousness**

**Vignettes and Drabbles**

By Themis56

**The Center Holds**

For some reason, most well-bred people in the cities set aside a specific time to take their tea. Milly couldn't follow that logic. Being a tea-drinker herself, she agreed with the notion that there had to be an amount of ceremony before taking that first sip. But to rigidly decree that it should be drunk at a certain time each and every day, that was the problem. She had always felt that one should enjoy the tea whenever the right mood struck. To think that the proper mood could be conjured up automatically--absurd! Milly's nose sniffed as she poured the hot water from her portable samovar into her leaf-filled cup.

A crash. Mr. Vash yelping. "GODDAMMIT, NEEDLE NOGGIN!"

Once the tea had settled, Milly gently poured out a few drops onto her saucer. She put it to her lips, draining it quickly, running her tongue over past her teeth to catch the flavor of every Ceylon infused drop. It was good. She had done it right.

Now Meryl's screeches cut over the sound of the argument. Bonk. She had given both men a wallop over the head, telling them to quit bickering and start fixing. "But Meeeeeryll…"

Milly usually took her Ceylon straight, but today, in this current situation, she felt that a bit of extra sugar was needed. She extracted a packet from her pocket and emptied it into the cup. She stirred slowly and carefully, making sure to get the sucrose as evenly distributed as possible. She took her first true sip. Placid eyes observed over the rim; she as grateful for the moment.

"Mr. Vash, explain how that _thing_ was in our engine!" Meryl was tugging on Mr. Vash's spikes as she pointed to the mechanics under the hood. Poor Mr. Priest had half his face covered in oil.

Taking a small meal bar, Milly dipped its end into her Ceylon exactly three times. She bit into it slowly. A small smile was on her lips.

"Oh good God, there's a cat in here!" Suddenly a black blur landed on Mr. Vash's head and he started running around in circles. Meryl was trying to help him while the priest looked on with sardonic enjoyment. "Run, ya spikey bastard, run!"

Milly continued to alternate sipping the tea and dipping the meal bar, never missing her rhythm. She jiggled her foot and was aware of it. The sky was blue, sand dusty red, and all was right.

She had drained the tea to the dregs when three others, splattered with oil, scratched, and looking very irritable joined her in the car. But they did not continue yet. Meryl turned in her seat and asked, "Milly, is that tea ready?"

"It sure is!"

Meryl nursed her drink immediately. Vash dipped his finger idly in it, swirling, before sipping. And Wolfwood, next to her in the back seat, drank his cup like it was a shot of whisky. Maybe he was pretending it was.

Once more, all was right in the world.

**The Burial Shroud**

The needle glinted in the morning light, a cool stream of sun flooding inside swimming with sluggish dust specks. It took both suns to get rid of the desert night chill and the orphan star hadn't risen yet. Things would get sweltering soon enough.

She wove the needle in and out of the rough black cloth. She stitched the first bullet hole closed. The finality of it sat heavy in her gut and the numbness spread through her. It was so hard to keep focused, like this was all some kind of surreal dream--it took all her effort to not let the needle slip and prick her fingers

There were several holes in the jacket's back. She hated the very sight of them, hated having to hold this jacket in her lap, but she needed to fix it. Mr. Priest needed to look his best. She couldn't think of how those holes had gotten there, how much it must have hurt, how painful it had been as he'd gone to that church alone…

A drop of blood welled up on her index digit from the jab it'd received. Milly sucked on it perfunctorily. She had to force herself to the task at hand--couldn't she do that little bit for him?

Once she'd mended the first rip she had to shift the jacket some. He had broad shoulders; the other mars lay in difficult places and she would also have to patch them or else it wouldn't fit him correctly. In doing so the cloth passed close to her nose. She caught the faint yet lingering scent of it and, against her will, she brought it closer and buried her face in it.

Tobacco, gunpowder, coffee grinds, cologne, and the slightest hint of her own perfume. The smells mixed up in her mind to form an image of him. His smile had always been so free and easy around her save for a few times when it had been false, and two nights before when he had gazed upon her with such longing and need. He had cried that night. Out of love she had stayed with him and he had looked at her and his hands had been so warm upon her. He had done so many things and had such a soul to make her love him, love him as much as she did her family and Senpai and Mr. Vash but in a most singular way. She would've given him the world.

She had given him everything she could.

Again the needle jabbed her, this time on her thumb. Milly fiercely shook her head in self-reproach. Such thoughts were the last thing she could afford right now, not when she had a task to perform.

Truth be told, she had never enjoyed sewing that much. Her mother and aunts had forced it on her at an early age, saying that it was an essential skill. She never liked it much yet never hated it either. But not this. She hated this. It really was a thankless task--what was the good in fixing something that would never be used ever again? Once he was buried it wouldn't matter what his clothes looked like.

She wouldn't have minded sewing things for Mr. Wolf--Nicholas--she decided.

Images of happy children filled her eyes, their raucous voices happy. She wouldn't have minded sewing for them as well. More jabs. Jab. Jab. Jab.  
Was it wrong to think of such things? Had it really been so horrible and naïve to wish that they might have been able to have a life together? For all four of them? What was wrong with it? It had not been a proud, totally selfish dream, not something she thought was beyond her capacity or worthiness. For she had loved him. But it hadn't been enough to help him.

She placed her bloody fingers in her quivering mouth. A soft whimper of pain slithered out from around them. She shut her eyes tight against the tide and tears; but a few trickled down anyway.

The suns hit her face. The suns. She thought about them--they must be rising up now. Rising up and up, not caring what went on below, just as they'd done countless times before. Milly's eyes opened, watching the golden stream hit the floorboards, then moving on to the patch of sky in the windowpanes. There was a natural cheer, a comfort in that. Looking at the sunlight and feelings its warmth tends to make a body feel more hopeful. She wouldn't be able to stand it, she mused, if everything had just stopped and left them all to hurt alone every time a bad thing happened to someone. That would be just unbearable. The suns were good, and so were the songs of the birds and the thomases and the sand dunes. It wouldn't help any to keep on begging the universe for the impossible. She always had possessed a good imagination but she never escaped for long, she wasn't as good at pretending as Mr. Vash. She wondered if he could smile that fake smile after what had happened.

Milly felt her mouth go stable and the bloody tang inside grew faint. Keep perfectly still long enough and the pain would pass. She couldn't let it get to her. It was a shame that Mr. Priest had spoiled her, she couldn't accept substitutes, but she could still make something of herself. Her her own friends now were sufficient and she had to think of them. She would follow that thread calmly to its end. And at the end--it wouldn't matter anymore. Until then, though, the children at December needed someone to take care of them in their lost big brother's place.

It had to be modified, but the dream was there. She liked to think that in being with them she would also bring him honor. That was the best thing she could think of. She had given her all.

The last holes were sewn up. Just as that happened, Senpai knocked quietly on the door, peeking her face in timidly.

"Milly?"

"I'm done, Senpai."

"That's good. Oh! Milly, your hand is bloody!"

"That's all right, it's stopped bleeding. I just need to wash my hands, that's all."

Senpai's gray-violet eyes searched her subordinate's face. "Well, if you're done with it why don't you bring it down? He can't leave without it, can he? Vash won't touch him, he says he's not dressed properly."

Yes, Wolfwood was laid out downstairs on a kitchen table, waiting. She hadn't seen him, she didn't want to, she heard that people's lips turned blue when they died and she didn't want to take that. Milly glanced at the freshly mended jacket. This, this she couldn't do; it would destroy her resolve. No, she owed it more to go her own way than force herself into more undeserved pain.

"Please take it, Senpai," she pleaded. "Neither Mr. Vash or I have the heart. I can't leave here just yet. He needs--we can't bury him if he doesn't have it on. This is all I can do. Could you?"

"All right, Milly," Senpai responded with utmost gentleness, taking the jacket away. Her footsteps, always brisk at the office and during their travels, plodded down the hall.   
Milly took in a rush of air; the action caused her ribs pain. Her whole chest hurt from all the sobbing yesterday, the muscles strained. With an effort she rolled off the bed to retrieve her work clothes that had been laid out for her. She slipped out of her pajamas and put on the shirt and pants. On went the clunky shoes. Her fingers fumbled for a bit over her suspenders but eventually she strapped one over each shoulder. He always liked to snap them softly when he wanted to get her attention without Senpai and Mr. Vash noticing.  
Finally she reached for her favorite red tie. She remembered how many times before he had used to grab it playfully, twirling it around his finger before pulling her up to give her a quick kiss, and how he'd liked to tease her by deftly untying it and holding it behind his back as she struggled to get it back. The sunrays gave the shiny red material a quiet sheen. She tied the knot very badly, lopsided, but it too did its duty to complete her wardrobe.

Mr. Vash would go out soon. Milly paled, sitting down in the chair before the window. She had to stay right here, she'd promised him, and she wouldn't break that promise until circumstance forced her. Who else would watch over his cross?

Low voices murmured in the hallway--Mr. Vash and Senpai were talking to each other, probably planning on leaving for a while to . . .Would they bother her? She'd told them of her promise. Senpai's voice went sharp as they found something to disagree on, business as usual there; Mr. Vash replied in a short monotone answer that apparently quelled any further argument. The double pair of echoes receded once more.

The door of the hall closed shut. Milly sat in the chair and looked at the cross, daydreaming.

**Dancing and Hurt My Feet**

_**Note: **This was actually inspired by a drabble I read about two years ago, so long that I've forgotten its name, but its author was one Lirillith. Milly and Wolfwood shared a small dance in that drabble and I was so tickled by the idea that I thought I'd try to make my own mood piece out of it. Thanks for the inspiration, Lirillith, wherever you are!_

Mr. Vash once told her that a very wise, though semi-coherent, man had declared privately to him that alcohol was the greatest of all Man's creations. For a long time she hadn't believed it, tasty as liquor could be--surely pudding, sweets, and Ceylon tea all came out on top! But she had to concede, if it weren't for alcohol then there wouldn't be road houses dotting the land between towns to offer salvation from the monotonous blaze of riding through the desert. All four of them, having rode out from New Oregon a few days earlier, had been utterly exhausted. Then Mr. Wolfwood, with his keen booze-senses tingling, swerved their car up to a little ramshackle place that had only been a dot on the horizon when first spotted. She envied him and Mr. Vash their amazing powers.

The mother sun had come perilously close to dipping out of sight as she deliberately sipped her frosty crème. They were the only customers in the road house at the moment, too early for the night rush and planning to leave before the first stars appeared. The bartender puttered behind his counter, eyes hidden. Mr. Vash, totally wasted as usual, had slumped off his stool and lay conked out on the floor like an angel who had requested the old water-to-wine trick once too often; so serene was his face that Senpai had no heart to move him by shove or shout. She just looked at him with her ever-increasingly pensive face. Mr. Wolfwood, she strained to remember over the brain freeze of her frosty, had gone to the one place that no decent girl ever dared to tread--he'd overdone guzzling down his water. He did that a bit.

A small square area had been set aside as a dancing floor, the lightly-warped boards scuffled. A jukebox dominated the far wall. The old records within, also a tad warped, had a strange beckoning aura to them, reminding her of the heirloom record player at home, the one she had spent childhood nights sitting next to, listening to the scratchy offerings it provided. Sometimes her father or an uncle or a brother would dance with her. She'd step on the toes of their boots and they'd twirl her around until she grew too dizzy to take more.

Milly asked permission from her Senpai and walked over to the jukebox, rattling the change in her duster pocket. She scanned over the meager selection, found a song that she recognized--and old waltz that her Uncle Bernard favored--and inserted the coins to watch the needle creak over the vinyl.

One two three. One two three. Glancing over her shoulder to see Senpai still regarding Mr. Vash with a strange expression, she began to swing herself around, eyes closed.  
A warm pair of hands take a hold of her shoulders from behind. She almost tripped over someone's feet before they got into the swing of the rhythm. Milly deftly turned to her companion in momentary surprise, her face softening into a smile. "Hey, Mr. Priest."

"You like dancing by yourself, Honey?"

"What can you expect, dear? I've stomped on some many people's toes that nobody takes me out on the floor anymore," she giggled. Her arms slipped around his waist. She always marveled at how slender he was beneath that suit yet could heft his Cross Punisher about wherever he went.

"Lord forgive me for being remiss in my duties," he murmured heavenward. After a few steps he pulled her closer to him, so close she could smell the cologne on his skin and on the collar of his jacket underneath the layer of smoke. It baffled her that the priest actually made smoke almost sweet; a few members outside the immediate family smoked and they never smelled as good as Mr. Wolfwood. Almost on instinct she buried her face into his lapel, into rough cloth against a wiry, solid body.

"Now you're the one who's comfy," she smiled against his shoulder; she felt the return grin through the motions of his stubble-roughened facial muscles next to her ear.

"Happy to return the favor."

In the scent and sensation and happiness, Milly felt a pull of confusion. Her eyes clouded up in the blank look that overtook her when in deep thought, the look that made her unintentionally appear spacey and flaky to the untrained eye, an expression which sometimes fooled even Senpai. The lean, almost gaunt, frame underneath the black cloth thrummed with life underneath her fingers, the rise of his ribs coming at a faster rate than before. Her eyes grew cloudier still. She felt very odd, like how she had felt when walking with him as they hustled Moore away from the caravan, only it hit her a hundred times more keenly, her cheeks pooling with heat. She had always liked Mr. Wolfwood--he was very rough at times but she knew he had kindness in him--and if this wasn't an indicator that he liked her back then she didn't know what was. And yet--they had never really spoken a word about it. They had only shared some grins, leaning against each other from time to time, and flirty banter--well, he did, she really didn't know how to flirt well but she at least became more playful in his presence--but other than that nothing else had been very romantic. He liked to buy her things when he could and they enjoyed each other's company, but that was found in any solid friendship, she knew that much. She could not tell when she had crossed that cursedly thin line, but apparently she had and now everything was a mess inside of her. She didn't know what to say, where to put her hands, what to do, how to act. Was it cricket to ask him how he felt? That was a very risky venture to her mind. She had to be careful. The time was never right.

"Honey," a grunt huffed in her ear, "ease up. You're breaking my ribs."

She loosened her killing grip around his middle in a sheepish way. "Sorry." She actually removed her hand so she could put it behind her head to accentuate her apology

The blue cleared from his face as he let out the first free breath in several minutes. "That's okay. Are you all right?"

Once her mind had been taken away from analysis her cheeriness returned, basking in the happiness of the moment, the pleasure she derived from his mere company. "Oh yes. Thanks for the dance. It was nice!"

He nodded, smirking. "We should do it again sometime."

"You bet!" Without a thought she leaned forth to give him a peck on the lips. His blue-gray eyes widened at her but Milly succeeded in overcoming the wave of apprehension unfurling in her stomach, giving him her brightest smile instead. She honestly didn't regret it. "But I guess we'd better fetch Senpai and Mr. Vash so we can get to town before nightfall."

Her suddenly mute companion nodded his assent and they all clambered into the car, Wolfwood dragging Vash by one foot because he staunchly refused to carry both him and the cross at the same time. Milly took her turn at the wheel. He slid in next to her. Once she had gotten out of park and into a good, steady gear she felt the warmth of his arm wrap around her shoulders, his hand rubbing in a circular motion. Milly smiled and a freshness rushed into her at his touch. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, catching his grin.  
Not a word was spoken.

**Learning**

When she woke up, it hurt to move; her legs were a bit sore. To ease the discomfort some, she scooted closer towards the source of warmth next to her and huddled deeper under the sheets. The motion of his chest helped lull her back into an almost trance-like state.

It was hard to figure out how this had happened. She could recall everything that had happened before--what he had said, what she'd said, and then what came after. Milly could have hardly believed it then and was having a difficult time now. Wasn't she a good girl? She was already twenty two but still worried about what her parents would think if they saw her now. And he was so terribly strong, almost frighteningly so--he did carry around that cross all the time. But she loved him and it was okay. It had been worth everything.

At the movement he began to awake as well, a lazy yawn stretching his mouth. When Wolfwood looked at her, his eyes were inscrutable but warm and he reached to cup her chin.

"Morning."

"Hey there!" Milly attempted to infuse her voice and make it seem as if nothing had changed

A sleepy grin wound its way onto his face; then it quickly died when she tensed up as the springs made their bodies shift. At that moment he seemed to almost hate himself.

"Damn, I'm so sorry."

Milly hugged him close.

"It's okay. I'll teach you some more about gentleness, that's all."

EAT MORE PUDDING AND PROSPER


End file.
